


Beginning of the Path

by Kazroo



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Other, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3475961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazroo/pseuds/Kazroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic delves into the backstory of Paul Kellerman, who would become the Veep's favorite go to guy for nefarious deeds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shards

Chapter 1 - Shards

 

There was a crash.

 

“A cup,” the male teenage voice monotoned, not looking up from his desk.

 

There was another crash, followed by a skittering sound.

 

“What was that one?” the eight year old fearfully asked, looking up from her graphic novel as she lay sprawled across the center of his bed.

 

He took another minute to think.

 

“The pink candy dish.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“It used to be a set of four.”

 

“Oh.”

 

A seventeen year old Paul Kellerman had again brought his sister into his room for protection. The door was closed and barricaded just in case the fight came upstairs again. Their parents were having another one of their ‘squabbles’. At times they ran room to room destroying whatever was in their paths.

 

Paul put down his pen, musing about the English paper he had been jotting down while the storm raged downstairs. “It was the best of times; it was the worst of times,” he mumbled as he thumbed through ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ looking for a quote.

 

“What?” she asked.

 

“Nothing, Krissy, just school.”

 

He opened his left desk drawer, pulled the pamphlets out again, and sighed. These were his tickets out – but which one – Army, Navy, Marines, or Air Force? As soon as he was 18, he was gone.

 

Paul looked at his sister with pity – she’d have to learn to protect herself from their parents’ mostly drunken rages. He needed to prepare her. She’d probably hate him for leaving.

 

“Kristine?”

 

“Yeah?” she replied, crossing her ankles as she bent her knees up behind her and rested her chin on her wrist fisted hand.

 

“You’re going to have to learn to take care of yourself soon. When I turn 18, I’ll be leaving.”

 

“Why?” she spouted, pushing up and throwing her feet over the edge of the bed.

 

“I’m joining the military.”

 

“But why?”

 

“I have to get out of here, Kris.”

 

“What about me?” she cried, tears now streaming down her face.

 

“That’s why you need to learn how to survive mom and dad’s fighting. You know when it’s time to get out of the way, and I’ll show you what to do if you get caught in one of their fights. You need to keep yourself safe because I have to leave.”

~~~~~


	2. End of Tunnel; Still no Light

Chapter 2 – End of the Tunnel, Still No Light

 

He had taught her all he knew in his last months of high school. Kristine had been able to take the lead in getting them safely to Paul’s room for the last four fights. They had slowly changed the décor of his room to that of hers. She would take over his room once he left because his room had a window to escape through if needed. Her room was a converted closet and provided no means of escape. Paul’s room was her safety zone. He hoped the familiarity would comfort her after he was gone.

 

“Paul?” Kristine timidly asked as she watched him packing an olive duffel bag.

 

“Yes?”

 

“When do you go?”

 

“My birthday is tomorrow. I leave the next day for boot camp.”

 

“I’m going to miss you,” she said with a gulp, not wanting to cry again. She knew it made him feel bad.

 

Paul stopped packing and sat on his bed, guilt rippling through him.

 

“I know,” he gravely answered. “I’ll miss you too. Come here.”

 

She stood in front of him and he held her by the shoulders.

 

“You can do this. I have taught you everything I know. You’re smart – you can think your way out of trouble. Just remember all the warning signs. And make sure you are locked in here when I tell mom and dad about the Army.”

 

“They won’t like it?”

 

“No, they won’t like it at all.”

 

“Why do you have to go?” She started to cry as she hugged her brother tight. He reluctantly put his arms around her, knowing it would open his heart to her plea and would make the separation even worse. He patted her back and drew back.

 

“Kristine, look at me.”

 

Paul got her to train her eyes on his.

 

“Just remember everything. I’m sorry I won’t be here to protect you. Mom and dad don’t mean to let their fights get out of control, and they don’t mean to hurt us, but I don’t want you to take any chances. If you see a fight starting, come in here and close the door.”

 

She nodded and bit her lips.

 

~~~~~


	3. What Makes a Man

Chapter 3 – What Makes a Man

 

They were both sober – it was a rare treat. There were decorations and even a cake with attempted icing writing saying ‘Harpy Bertfday Pa ul’. He chuckled to himself. ‘At least mom tried,’ he thought, ‘but pink decorations?’

 

“Oh, hey Paul,” his mom greeted, looking very put together. “I’m sorry about the pink decorations, but everything was sold out, and I found these. I guess we never used them for Kristine.”

 

“She’s never been the pink type,” Paul nodded. “Thanks mom.”

 

It hadn’t been this good in years and Paul felt even more guilty. If they were going to clean up their act, there was no reason to leave. But it had happened before – many times. It never lasted more than a week – two at the outside.

 

“What’s with the pink crap all over the place?” Paul’s father grumbled as he came into the kitchen.

 

“It’s Paul’s birthday.”

 

“And what? He’s become a fairy?”

 

“No, it was all I could find.”

 

“Hey, boy, looks like you’ve reached manhood. I’ll split a beer with ya!”

 

“You cannot do that,” his mom shrilly screeched.

 

“Oh, here we go again – he’s a man – let him have a drink!”

 

“Dad, that’s not legal until I’m 21.”

 

“It’s a stupid law. If you’re old enough to marry and old enough to fight for your country, you sure as hell deserve a drink!”

 

“Funny you should mention fighting for your country.”

 

Paul saw his sister at the foot of the stairs and waved her back. She went far enough up the stairs so Paul couldn’t see her, but that she could hear what was going on.

 

“Mom, dad, I’m joining the Army.”

 

“Paul! You are not!” his mother roared. “We’re pacifists!”

 

Paul laughed. “And that is so obvious in our day to day life,” he sarcastically quipped.

 

“You don’t talk to your mother like that,” his father said, making a quick turn back at his son. “And if you think I’m letting eighteen years of feeding and clothing to get sent to some foreign backwater and get its ass shot off, you have another thing coming! I will lock you in your room until you are 35.”

 

“But I’m a man now – you said it yourself. I can fight for my country if I choose to, and I have chosen the Army. I figure I’ve lived in a war zone most of my life, it’s about time I put it to good use.”

 

Paul was standing wide, holding his ground instead of running to his room. His father cocked his right arm and punched Paul in the left eye, knocking him to the kitchen floor.

 

They all froze, Paul stunned but still conscious. While his dad stared at him and his mom stared at his dad, Paul scrambled back against the cabinets. While he worked his way to his feet again, his fingernails loosened the fake wood grain skin on the particleboard cabinet doors.

 

He could see his parents about to come out of their suspended animation and knew he had to move. Kristine took a peek down the stairs and Paul’s heart skipped a beat when he saw her. He dove headlong out of the kitchen, sliding until he hit the carpet of the living room. It brought him to an abrupt stuttering stop. He pulled his feet under him and vaulted toward the banister.

 

Paul landed a step below Kristine and pulled her up by her arm. He glanced back into the kitchen and saw his father picking up the birthday cake.

 

“Run!” he barked at Kristine. They pounded up the stairs. As they reached the second floor, there was a sound Paul couldn’t readily identify.

 

“SPLORCK”

 

The misspelled confection now painted the stair wall.

 

“See what you’ve done?” Paul’s father accused his mother.

 

“What I’ve done? What I’ve done?” she hollered back, bee-lining for her husband.

 

“Yeah, what you’ve done!”

 

The brother and sister dashed into his room and set the barricade. The sounds of fighting were muffled, but nothing could block them completely.

 

“I thought I told you not to stick around for that?” he puffed as he bent and pressed his hands to his knees while he caught his breath.

 

“I’m sorry. I was afraid for you.”

 

“It’s OK.”

 

He crouched and hugged Kristine.

 

“Ow,” he said when he tried to smile. He pulled one arm out of the hug and touched the now puffy space under his eye.

 

“Looks like dad got in his parting shot,” he half laughed as he smiled on the other side of his face.

 

~~~~~


	4. Changing of the Guard

Chapter 4 – Changing of the Guard

 

 

The calm of the bedroom bunker was interrupted by the sound of pounding outside. Paul and Kristine held each other tight again, hoping the barricade would hold. The pounding became rhythmic.

 

Paul stood and held up his index finger to his lips to signal Kris to remain silent. With a wave of his hand she backed to his bed. Paul inched toward the door. He had just put his hand on the wall when a giant spike nail pierced the wall board right between his fingers. Paul jumped back and inspected his hand, flexing it to make sure he was unscathed. He shot a frightened look at Kristine, but shook his head to keep her silent and where she was – now on her knees on the bed.

 

“That oughta keep you in,” they could hear their father grumble from outside.

 

~~~~~

 

For several hours, Paul and Kristine sat quietly side by side on his bed. She had her arms slung around his shoulders.

 

“I know it seems bad right now,” he calmly stated, “but maybe after I leave they will…”

 

“You don’t have to do that,” she interrupted.

 

‘What?” Paul questioned.

 

“You don’t have to pretend mom and dad are going to get better.”

 

“Sorry,” he said, rounding his back over and holding his flattened together hands like a hatchet blade down the center of his face. He clapped his palms, keeping the fingers together.

 

He felt far older than his 18 years. And he felt like he was leaving his sister at the mercy of wolves, if that good. He sighed out a deep breath.

 

“You have no idea how sorry I am that I can’t take you out of here. I…I…”

 

He looked up into his sister’s eyes. Her gaze was steely with a hint of fear below. She was making the transition from follower to leader. Paul found it ironic as he was about to go from leader to a follower of orders. Kristine was definitely the stronger one of them.

 

Paul stood and turned away from her.

 

“I guess we should see what damage dad did,” was his abrupt change of subject.

 

“Paul…”

 

“No, it’s been quiet, so we should…help me open the door.”

 

They moved the barricade and Paul grasped the doorknob. He almost laughed out loud when he realized what his father had done. There were two 2x4’s nailed across the doorway at a diagonal – high on the left and low on the right. They didn’t keep the door from opening because the door swung in. He held down the laugh because explaining a fit of laughter about boards nailed over his door seemed impossible in so many ways.

 

“I thought dad was trapping us in here.” Kristine said as she looked at the impromptu carpentry.

 

“Apparently so did he.”

 

Paul ducked under the boards and examined his father’s handiwork. He ran his fingers over the indentation where the head of the nail that nearly impaled him was over-driven.

 

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbled, hoping his sister didn’t hear him.

 

~~~~~


	5. When a Door Closes

Chapter 5 – When a Door Closes

 

Paul woke up just before dawn. Kristine was snuggled up with her back to his chest. She was in a ball. Paul jumped off the bed feeling weird about having spent the night in the same bed with his sister. It’s not that he felt anything inappropriate, it was just that he needed to leave in a few hours and she still needed him – maybe more than he realized.

 

He slipped away to the bathroom. He showered, shaved, and steeled himself. He had a classic shiner from his father’s punch. He laughed at himself in the mirror.

 

“And you’re going to be a soldier,” he said with a shake of his head.

 

Paul donned his favorite pair of jeans and cinched his brown snake skin belt. He threw on a Necco wafer brown polo shirt and played with the collar. He pulled the corners up then raised an eyebrow at himself in the mirror.

 

“Something tells me the drill sergeant won’t like that look.”

 

He neatly folded the collar down and gave himself a nod of approval. He languidly brushed his fingers through his shaggy locks. With a toothy grin he stared at his image.

 

“Just one more thing that’s going to change.”

 

Kristine was awake when Paul came out of the bathroom.

 

“Good morning,” he said as he grabbed a pair of socks. He pulled his duffel bag up on the bed.

 

“Have you been downstairs since yesterday?”

 

“Nope,” Paul muttered, randomly patting at items in his bag.

 

“I’m hungry,” she informed him.

 

“So am I. I’m willing to bet mom and dad aren’t up this early. I’ll go down and see what I can find. Stay here…and lock the door.”

 

“OK.”

 

~~~~~

 

It was more of a war zone than normal. The floor crunched with wood, glass, and food. The birthday decorations hung in tatters. It looked like a post-apocalyptic kitchen.

 

Paul found three granola bars and a chocolate pop tart. He also grabbed the milk and orange juice from the fridge.

 

“Here you go,” he said, dropping the dry goods on the center of the bed. He put the milk carton and juice bottle on his nightstand and got several Dixie bathroom cups from the dispenser next to the mirror in the bathroom.

 

“This will be our last breakfast together,” Kristine sadly toned.

 

“Only for a while,” he tried to reassure her.

 

He poured them each a tiny cup of milk and then split the pop tart. She sat on the bed and pulled her feet up and crossed her legs under her. Paul pushed the pillows aside and sat right in front of the headboard, his duffel taking up where he would normally sit.

 

“This room is all yours now,” he began. “Let dad think he trapped me in here for a few days – only use the door when you know no one is in the hall.”

 

She nodded obediently as she nibbled the final edge of the pop tart.

 

“How will you leave?”

 

Paul turned his gaze toward the window.

 

“The porch roof is just below. Then I can climb down the tree.”

 

Kristine pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them, resting her head on top of her knees.

 

“Would you like some juice?”

 

She shook ‘no’.

 

He poured a quick cup for himself and downed it like a shot, crumpling the cup when he was done. He stood again, grabbed one of the granola bars and tucked it in his bag. He toted the bag to the window and put it on the floor. He pulled an old Chinese jump rope through itself and around the cords of the bag, pulling it taut. He pushed the sash up full and dropped his bag on the porch roof below. He moved back to his bed and picked Kristine up from behind by the armpits. He turned her and had her stand on the bed, making them about the same height.

 

“Take care of yourself. I’ll send you my address as soon as I can. Tell me everything that’s going on, OK? I’ll try to call too, but chances are mom or dad will answer the phone. Do you remember Beth? She used to baby sit. I ran into her after graduation. She knows about everything and she said if you need out, she’ll be there for you. This is her number. She said even if you just need to talk, call her. And she’ll make sure to give me any messages if you can’t reach me.

 

Kristine just kept nodding to each thing he said.

 

“Goodbye,” she simply stated.

 

Paul pulled her into a hug.

 

“Be safe,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

 

With a single tear streaming down his cheek, Paul backed to the window. He looked outside. There was a blue sky full of puffy clouds. He advanced one leg through the window, looked back at Kristine one more time, then ducked his head under the raised sash, and hopped forward to pull his back leg through the opening.

 

~~~~~


	6. You're Not on Greyhound Anymore

Chapter 6 – You’re Not on Greyhound Anymore

 

Paul sat on the bus. He was two hours from the end of civilian life. He stayed turned toward the window so his misty eyes wouldn’t be seen by the whole bus. His reflection showed an emotional boy with a heavy heart.

 

“Kristine,” he whispered.

 

“Is that your girl?” he heard through the haze of his musings.

 

“Hmm?” he hummed, reluctantly turning toward the aisle. He wiped his eyes and looked up.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Kristine – is that your girl?”

 

“Oh, no, she’s my sister.”

 

He vaguely recognized the person talking to him, but couldn’t place him.

 

“I’m Mike…and you don’t remember me – the exchange concert Freshman year?”

 

“Oh…oh yeah.”

 

“You still don’t remember me,” Mike said with a shake of his head.

 

“Um, sorry.”

 

“Looks like we’re headed for the same place though, eh?”

 

“Yeah…hey I’m sorry, but I’m not really in the mood to talk right now, if you don’t mind.”

 

“No, no, s’all good. I’ve talked all the ears off here already. I’m a talker, see? I think that might be my downfall when it comes to the military. I mean, I can shut up, but I have trouble staying that way, if you know what I mean.”

 

Paul stared numbly as Mike prattled on and on. At least it kept Kristine out of every second of his thoughts.

 

~~~~~

 

The air brakes squealed and with a hiss the bus door opened. People started grabbing their bags and standing from their seats at a leisurely pace, working out the kinks from the ride.

 

An imposing man stepped on and glared at them all.

 

“What do you think this is the monorail at Disney Land? Move, move, move!!!” he barked.

 

“What’s the matter with you?” he challenged a boy in the aisle.

 

“Um,” he gulped, “You’re in the aisle.”

 

“Are you going to give up at the first obstacle in your way? Does that sound like a soldier you want protecting your country?”

 

People began piling over the seats, some leaving their belongings in their seats. Paul shouldered his bag and walked with dignity down the aisle.

 

“You think you’re better than the rest of these boys?” The uniformed invader nearly steam pressed Paul’s face with his accusation.

 

“Sometimes it is best to face a problem head on,” Paul calmly stated.

 

“Is that so? And I suppose that’s what got you that black eye? Was that direct confrontation successful?”

 

“More than you might think.”

 

Paul was standing his ground, looking into a face he didn’t know but seeing his father. He lowered his head and raised his eyes up.

 

“You’re seeing the guy who gave you that shiner. Right now, you don’t see me because you are blinded by anger. That’s not what being a soldier is about, boy. I will beat that anger out of you myself before I call you a soldier in my Army.”

 

He grabbed Paul by the button placket, managing to grab one of his few chest hairs. He pulled Paul off the bus that way, his duffel bag making the pull on him seem to be double. When the drill sergeant let him go, he dropped to his knees.

 

“On your feet,” he yelled standing right over him, then walked away to torment the other new recruits. Paul watched him following Mike around while the boy suffered from a bad case of verbal diarrhea. The Schadenfreude in Paul caused a guffaw.

 

~~~~~


	7. What You Hear is What You Get

Chapter 7 – What You Hear is What You Get

 

It was a long day of being dressed down, getting gear, and losing hair. And the chow offered after a day of torment was not appetizing.

 

“My head looks like a doorknob,” Paul muttered that night when he caught his image.

 

He came to his billet - one of many wooden bunk beds. He tested it for sturdiness, but didn’t feel reassured.

 

“Hey,” an exhausted and hoarse Mike said as he dragged in. “Looks like we get this one – upper or lower?” he breathily asked.

 

Paul looked at Mike and figured he didn’t weight more than 120 soaking wet, whereas Paul was in the 150-160 range.

 

“I’ll take the lower.”

 

“Cool, man. So it looks like we’re the designated screw ups. I saw the sarge getting in your face before you made it off the bus.”

 

“Me and my black eye didn’t meet his military standards.”

 

“Lights out, maggots,” the drill sergeant roared, plunging them into darkness.

 

Paul figured at least Mike couldn’t talk his ears off in his sleep – until the mumbled one sided conversations began in the bunk above him.

 

“I can’t believe it – he talks more in his sleep than he does awake.”

 

Paul pulled the pillow over his ears and was out cold until reveille sounded.

 

~~~~~

 

A weapon fired.

 

“What was that one?”

 

“An RPG.”

 

“You can really recognize every weapon by its sound – how is that possible?”

 

“Call it a gift from my parents.”

 

~~~~~


End file.
